Take Two
by OpenPage
Summary: Part six of "Peeping Through the Closet Door", a series of short stories detailing Tom's journey as he comes to realize he has feelings for Dennis. Tom and Dennis take a shot at a second date.
1. Qui Vivra Verra-He Who Lives, Shall See

The B-52s, _'Love Shack'_ played through the Mustang's speakers, and although upbeat, the lyrics sent a nervous shiver throughout Tom's tense body. After his explosive outburst in the locker room the day before, he felt ready to try a second date, but that didn't mean he wasn't anxious. In terms of a sexual relationship, he still wasn't sure how far he was prepared to go with Booker, and his ambivalence bothered him. It was this nagging uncertainty that played havoc with both his conscious and unconscious mind, and the previous night, he'd experienced one of the most vivid dreams of his life. In his vision, he was standing in a room surrounded by people adorned in fancy dress. Soft, pink lighting shimmered over tendrils of silver gray smoke, the faux mist curling and dancing around the party-goers' legs in playful wisps. From above, the dark, solemn strains of a cello sounded through large, overhead speakers, the dirge-like music adding weight to the esoteric mood. Dressed all in white, _Dream Tom_ drifted through the crowd, his eyes fixed on the dark silhouette of a man standing in a shadowy corner, the mysterious figure drawing him forward with an unseen, supernatural force. The surreal atmosphere, coupled with the eerie, melodic harmony echoing throughout the room should have alarmed him, but it didn't. He was spellbound, trapped within a sensory web, and he longed to lay eyes on the enigmatic apparition, to see his face, to touch him, hold him, breathe in his scent. But as he approached, he noticed the black-clad figure was wearing a white Bauta that obscured his features. Crestfallen, he studied the mask's over-prominent nose, thick, supraorbital ridge, and projecting chin all of which drew attention away from the vizard's missing mouth, creating an illusion that both enhanced and disguised its grotesque appearance. In his subconscious mind, Tom _knew_ the mouthless man was Booker, but at that point, the rapid hammering of his heart had awoken him with a start. He had no idea of the significance of the dream, or what it symbolized. What he _did_ know was his body had reacted to the imagery, leaving him with a rock-hard erection, which his talented hand had taken care of with thoughts of Booker (sans mask) floating through his mind. Although confusing and somewhat disconcerting, the young officer was level-headed enough to know it was just a dream, and over-analyzing its meaning was a pointless exercise. It was sound advice, but unfortunately, his brain refused to co-operate. Hours later, he was still trying to figure out if the dream was a portent of doom or the result of one too many beers while watching reruns of _'The Twilight Zone'_ the night before. Either way, it hadn't stopped him from keeping his date with Booker, but it _had_ added an extra dimension to his nervous demeanor, leaving him sweaty, tense and more than a little nauseous.

With a sudden jolt of awareness, the young officer realized he'd driven past Booker's apartment. Cursing under his breath, he yanked the Mustang's wheel to the left, sending the car spinning 180 degrees. Out of nowhere, the sharp blare of a horn sounded behind him, followed by a tirade of obscenities shouted through the open window of a brown Toyota. As the sedan sped past, the driver continued to articulate his annoyance by gesticulating wildly with his middle finger. But Tom did not react. Inattention and negligence on his part had almost resulted in an accident, stunning him into silence, and flicking his indicator, he pulled into a parking space and switched off the Mustang's engine.

When a modicum of calm caressed the tension from his muscles, he climbed from the car and walked across the road. Memories of his first case with Booker flashed in his mind, and he blushed with embarrassment when he remembered breaking into the dark-haired officer's apartment. Lost in thought, he stood for a moment on the sidewalk, staring up at the 1930s, gray-bricked building. Only a few months had passed since that night, but a lot had changed in a short space of time, and he now considered Dennis more than just a friend, he was, in fact, his lover.

Shocked by his readiness to admit the intimacy of their relationship, the word reverberated in Tom's head. Lowering his eyes to the pavement, his blush deepened as he wrestled with the concept. Booker was his lover… his lover! While he had grappled with the idea of falling in love with the dark-haired officer, the realization he was his lover had only just occurred to him. Why it had taken so long to acknowledge the fact was one of life's many mysteries, but there it was, out in the open for all the world to know. Except the world didn't know, no one did, apart from him and Dennis. Theirs was a clandestine affair, a cloak-and-dagger romance carried out under cover of darkness. Not that the young officer cared, he wasn't comfortable coming out to his friends and family, at least not while his feelings were still so new and confusing. He was still coming to terms with his bisexuality in his own mind, and until he had it straightened out in his head, he figured it was better to let sleeping dogs lie. However, he couldn't help but wonder if there was more to it than just his sexual confusion. As much as he tried to ignore it, the annoying voice of doubt continued to whisper in his ear. Deep down, he knew he was being paranoid, but his insecurities gnawed at his intuition, chewing at his confidence until all that was left was uncertainty. It was the story of his life. Despite what most people thought, he lacked faith in his own sociability, and it took time for him to relax and open up to strangers. Penhall, however, had been the exception. Their easy-going friendship was a unique blend of brotherly love and mutual respect that grew in intensity with each passing day. But that type of instant friendship was a rarity for Tom. Fiercely private, his humility was sometimes mistaken for arrogance. Although perceptive, he didn't see in himself what others saw; a gracious, kind, engaging man, and therefore, he often questioned people's motives. Modesty was his curse, and he couldn't understand why someone as charismatic as Dennis Booker had fallen for him. Therefore, mistrust continued to fuel his anxiety, trapping him in a perpetual cycle of self-doubt. Caught in a web of his own making, he struggled with the idea of being loved just for himself. While he understood the lust of Eros based love, he was not a believer in the rarer Pragma or longstanding love and using his parents' marriage as an example, his cynicism had festered. Thomas and Margaret Hanson's union had been fraught with problems, most due to the diligent officer's long working hours and his wife's constant fears for his safety. Then, after his father died, Tom's mother had entered into many short-lived affairs, all of which had ended in heartache. At the impressionable age of sixteen, it had reinforced Hanson's cockeyed attitude toward passionate, long-term relationships, leaving him wary. However, there was still a smidgen of romanticism buried deep inside his soul, and he had faith that one day, someone would come into his life and prove him wrong. Maybe that person might even be the cocky, self-assured officer who was slowly yet surely, stealing his heart. After all, stranger things had happened. Belief in the magical qualities of love was a far cry from Tom's usual, pessimistic view, but it did give him some measure of hope for the future. If nothing else, it was a step in the right direction, even if it was only a small step.

From across the street, the sound of approaching voices pulled Tom back to the present. His head snapped up, and with a quick glance over his shoulder, he hurried up the building's steps. He had avoided the rowdy party-goers before they could encroach on the inner sanctum of his thoughts, but he still had to face Booker, and once again, his anxiety levels rose. But he was a man of steely determination and pushing aside his doubts, he walked into the dimly-lit lobby.

Nicotine-stained wallpaper peeled from the walls, the musty aroma of stale cigarette smoke embedded within the worn piles of the decades-old carpet hanging heavily in the air. The oppressive atmosphere was a far cry from Tom's modern apartment building, and the young officer wondered why Booker chose to live in such depressing conditions. When he'd visited two weeks before, his high levels of anxiety had blinded him to the rundown surroundings his friend lived in. But on reflection, he thought it seemed out of character. Booker certainly wasn't a snob, but he _was_ somewhat vain, and his apartment didn't really fit the image. Except, the more Tom thought about it, it did. The dark-haired officer loved to portray a bad-boy character, and living in a building on the _wrong side of the tracks_ added an element of danger to his facade. The thought amused Tom, and he chuckled softly. He was starting to see through Booker's flippant, _devil-may-care_ persona, and beneath the surface, was someone who battled with the same insecurities he did. It was a comforting thought, and his body relaxed. He and Booker weren't that different after all.

The naked bulb above Tom's head flickered once, then died, plunging the lobby into darkness. A woman's loud, shrill voice sounded from an open, ground floor apartment. "Damn it to hell, Joe, I _told_ you to fix that light. How're people gonna get home if they can't see to climb the fuckin' stairs?"

Not wanting to get caught in the middle of a domestic between the super and his wife, Tom shuffled over to the staircase. With no handrail to guide him, he trudged up the worn stairs, his gait cautious. The last thing he wanted to do was stumble, so he took his time, counting each step under his breath to help steady his nerves. When he reached a small landing, light shone down from the first-floor corridor, illuminating his path. A relieved sigh expelled from between his lips, and with a renewed vigor, he took the remaining steps two at a time. He couldn't explain why, but all of a sudden, he was anxious to see his friend. Turning left, he hurried down the narrow corridor, and stopping outside apartment 1C, he raised his hand and rapped his knuckles on the door.

Time stood still, and with bated breath, he waited. The echo of footsteps sounded from inside the apartment and before Tom could change his mind, the door yanked open, revealing Booker's smiling face.

Caught somewhat off guard, Tom's lips twitched into a nervous grin. "Hey."

Touched by the awkward greeting, Booker stepped forward, and pulling Tom into a clumsy hug, he pressed his mouth against the young officer's ear. "I'm glad you came."

The sensuous whisper of Booker's breath sent a bolt of arousal through Tom's body, the delicious tingly vibration bringing goosebumps to the surface of his skin. Closing his eyes, he drew pleasure from the sexually charged sensation, his body homing in on the firmness of the dark-haired officer's muscular frame pressing against him. The sweet, musky fragrance of Booker's aftershave mingled with the faint aroma of cigarettes, the heady scent of masculinity enveloping him in its invisible fumes. His senses awakened, every nerve in his body eagerly awaiting the intimate moment when Booker's warm lips pressed against his quivering mouth. But he was left disappointed. Without warning, the dark-haired officer pulled away, his expression serious. "About the other day, I didn't mean to emasculate you."

For Tom, it seemed an odd time to apologize, and the delightful calm relaxing his body vanished, leaving him once again jittery. "Um, yeah, I know you didn't," he acknowledged in a quiet voice, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. When Booker remained silent, he voiced the concerns keeping him awake at night. "It's just, it's weird 'cause I don't really know where I stand with you. You've got all this experience, and I haven't got a clue what I'm s'posed to be doing."

A tender smile crinkled the corners of Booker's eyes, and taking hold of Tom's hand, he gave the fingers a gentle squeeze. "I don't want you to _do_ anything. I just want you to be Tom."

With a visible relaxation of his shoulders, Tom returned a smile. "I can do that."

Pleased, Booker stepped back from the door and allowed Tom to enter. Curiosity soon got the better of the young officer, and wandering into the small kitchenette, he peered through the glass of the oven door. "So, what's for dinner?"

Booker's dark eyes danced with mischief. "I may have lured you here under false pretenses," he admitted with a grin. "The truth is, I can't cook. So, how 'bout I play to my strengths and order in pizza."

Amused, Tom chuckled softly. "Pizza it is."

While Booker busied himself finding a menu, Tom made himself at home. Lounging back on the sofa, he forced his body to relax. He had no idea what the night held, but he was more than willing to find out.

 _To be continued…_


	2. Twenty-Four and There's so Much More

**_Four hours later_**

Relaxed in the comfortable atmosphere of Booker's engaging company, a cognitive familiarity triggered a sense of déjà vu inside Tom's mind, raising goosebumps on his bare arms. He'd found himself in a similar situation two weeks before, the only difference was in the current scenario, he'd made a conscious effort to moderate his drinking. Although he could have used a few more stiff belts to steady his nerves, he didn't want to wind up sleeping on the couch for a second time because Booker thought his alcohol intake had impaired his decision-making skills. He was determined to take their relationship to the next level, and the only way that was going to happen was to prove he was sober, receptive, and more than willing to experiment. However, whether Booker had the presence of mind to pick up on his subtle attempts at flirting was anybody's guess. All he could do was keep projecting a calm exterior, and hope that everything would fall into place.

From across the room, Booker took a swig of whiskey, his attention focused on the faraway look in Tom's eyes. He'd found Hanson's coquettish attempts at seduction awkward yet delightfully endearing, and he was eager to see how the night would pan out. While he hoped his friend would accept his invitation to stay, he was prepared for the disappointment if he declined. Tom was riding a precipice of emotion, teetering between open acceptance and outright denial, and one false move could see him plummeting back into the black pit of sexual repression. It was a delicate situation, and one Booker knew he needed to treat with respect and patience. If he and Tom were meant to be, it would happen, if not, he would always have the memories of their brief yet erogenous couplings to satisfy his fantasies during the many nights he spent alone in his apartment. At least that's what he told himself, the truth was another matter. In reality, his feelings were far more than just infatuation, and he knew if their relationship didn't progress, he would live with the disappointment forever.

A sudden awareness roused Booker from his thoughts, and refocusing his eyes, he met Tom's smoldering gaze. The intimacy of the look ignited a flame in the pit of his stomach, the fiery heat spreading down to his genitals, awakening a yearning within. All thoughts of diplomacy vanished under the intensity of his lover's stare and risking disappointment, he voiced the unspoken thought foremost in both their minds. "So, do you wanna stay the night?"

Tom's pulse quickened. With the question now out in the open, his anxiety returned. Spending the night was very different to fooling around on the couch, and for the hundredth time, he wondered how far Booker expected him to go. While he wanted their relationship to progress, the idea of penetrative sex terrified him. But he trusted his heart and more importantly, he trusted Booker. Despite the dark-haired officer's best efforts to convince the world otherwise, the reputation he was so proud of remained questionable, consisting of trumped up stories based on unverifiable conquests. For Tom, Booker's portrayal as a _love 'em and leave 'em_ Lothario appeared highly exaggerated, especially now he had seen the softer side of his lover's personality. Despite his earlier reservations, he now knew Dennis wasn't a gigolo, he was, in fact, a hopeless romantic, and it was this knowledge that gave him the confidence to entrust the dark-haired officer with both his body and his heart. There was no denying he was nervous, but unless he trusted his gut instinct, he would forever be left wondering.

"Tom?"

At the sound of his name, clarity returned to Tom's clouded eyes. A shy smile curled his lips, and he immediately disguised his bashfulness behind his hand. "Sorry," he muttered. "I um, I guess… I mean… if you're okay with it I…"

Amusement brightened Booker's eyes, but instead of teasing his lover, he spoke to him in a soft, reassuring voice. "If you want to stay, just say yes."

A deep blush stained Tom's cheeks and removing his hand, he smiled his tilting smile. "Yes."

Detecting a hint of uncertainty in Tom's answer, Booker's brows drew together in a concerned frown. With anyone else, he would have ignored the slight hesitancy and focused on his own selfish needs. But his feelings for Tom were different, bringing out a softer, more nurturing side of his personality, and so he attempted to allay his lover's obvious apprehension without sounding too condescending. "I'm not gonna make you do anything you don't want to, Tommy. You know that, right?"

Tom blew out his cheeks, his thoughts in turmoil. He appreciated the truth behind Booker's statement, but the knowledge did little to quell his rising panic. However, the rational part of his mind told him he had two choices. He could stay quiet and let things play out, or he could speak honestly and hope Booker would understand his reservations. Indecision churned his stomach, and he sat rigidly in his chair, his self-doubt stiffening the muscles in his shoulders until they ached. Once again, his feelings of inadequacy overwhelmed him, and he wondered why he continued to put himself in such embarrassing situations. But when he caught a glimpse of Booker's worried face, he knew the answer. He was falling for the officer with the beguiling brown eyes, and if he didn't act on his affections, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

Grasping hold of the chair's worn armrests, Tom's knuckles shone white through the skin of his clenched fists. He was a bundle of nerves, but he was determined to give Booker an explanation, and drawing in a deep, calming breath, he mustered all his inner fortitude and voiced his concerns. "It's not that. It's just… the other night when you asked me to touch you, I froze. What if I can't give you what you want? I mean, I _want_ to give you what you want, but what if I can't?"

A look of wonderment passed over Booker's face. It had never occurred to him his lover's anxiety might stem from a fear of not being able to please, and his heart swelled with love. The intimate confession was a revelation, especially coming from someone as fiercely private as Tom. But now the young officer had found the courage to voice the reason behind his trepidation, Booker knew it was his responsibility to try to calm the waters without putting any further pressure on his friend.

Getting to his feet, he walked over to Tom's chair and squatted down. "We're still getting to know each other," he reassured, his hands lightly covering the young officer's balled fists. "If you wanna take it slow, we take it slow. We don't even have to fool around if you don't want to, let's just see what happens, okay?"

They were the comforting words Tom wanted to hear, but in reality, he wasn't sure if taking it slow was an option anymore. The gentleness of Booker's touch had sparked fresh embers within the flame glowing deep inside his gut, spreading a delicious warmth throughout his body. But while there was no denying his growing arousal, his physiological urges were not the primary reason he wanted to spend the night. For once in his life, he wanted to act on impulsiveness alone and not overthink his actions by allowing his inexperience to play havoc with his anxiety. Booker had made it perfectly clear he was willing to let him set the pace, so who was he to argue? It was a win-win situation, and he'd be a fool not to take a chance on love.

After his internal pep talk, Tom's expression visibly relaxed, and taking hold of Booker's hand, he squeezed his fingers. "Okay, Officer. Whatever you say."

Relief shone from Booker's eyes, but when he spoke, his tone was serious. "Actually, it's whatever _you_ say. You're the one in control, okay?"

Ripples of arousal skimmed over Tom's flesh, the tremors of excitement surging through his body in powerful waves of eager anticipation. "Okay," he responded, his head gesturing in rapid agreement.

The exaggerated nod reminded Booker of a Bobblehead doll, the comparison bringing a smile to his lips. But when he stood up, he was surprised to find his legs were shaking, and it took a moment for him to steady himself. Tom's leap of faith had suddenly made him jittery, the unexpected onset of nerves wiping the grin from his face. It was as though his whole life had led to this one moment in time, and he stared down at his lover, his pupils dilated, the jet-black voids all but obscuring the brown irises. But when two dark, trusting eyes met his gaze, an aura of calm washed over him, and his smile returned. By falling into the trap of overthinking, he'd allowed his emotions to get the better of him, much like Tom had done earlier. And so, in an attempt to normalize the situation, he held out his hand. "C'mon," he murmured, "let's see if I can find you a toothbrush."

With trembling fingers, Tom took hold of Booker's hand and stood up. Deep in his chest, his heart thudded, the erratic tempo rising into his throat. He swallowed deeply, and before his anxiety could take hold, he allowed the dark-haired officer to lead him toward the bathroom.

"Gimme a minute," Booker instructed, and leaving Tom outside, he went in search of a fresh towel and toothbrush.

Curiosity soon extinguished Tom's nervousness, and turning to the left, he wandered into the bedroom. Clothes spilled out of open drawers, the partially open closet revealing a jumble of shirts and jeans, all lying crumpled on the floor, their bereft hangers dangling from the railing. The only semblance of neatness within the cluttered room was the immaculately made bed, the dark blue linen reminding Tom of the stillness of the ocean on a summer's day. Given the untidy state of the rest of Booker's apartment, the young officer could not help but wonder if the bed had been made with a particular purpose in mind, and his anxiety returned.

"Success!"

Tom spun around, the sound of his lover's cheerful voice jarring his pensive thoughts. Booker stood in the doorway, a white towel held in one hand, a packaged toothbrush in the other. His friend's broad grin instantly lightened Tom's mood, and returning a smile, he stepped forward and took the proffered items.

"I'm all done," Booker advised. "I left the toothpaste on the shelf above the sink."

With a slight nod of his head, Tom disappeared into the bathroom. Once alone, Booker gazed around his messy bedroom. It suddenly occurred to him he should have cleaned up, and he quietly contemplated the pros and cons of shoving everything out of sight without actually breaking a sweat. But that wasn't really his style, he was who he was, and he figured it was better to reveal his disorganized nature at the very beginning of a relationship rather than pretend to be someone he wasn't. Except that wasn't always true. He _did_ play the part of a bad boy a lot of the time, especially in front of his work colleagues, but it was all a front. However, he never deceived his lovers. In the privacy of his own home, he banished Booker to the shadows and became Dennis, a sweet, caring man who lavished love and attention on those who stole his heart. The contrast between personality and character was a fascinating insight into the lengths he went to mask his true identity, but to dismantle the illusion only served to complicate the issue. Most people hid behind a mask of deception, it was human nature, and therefore, he felt no guilt for pretending to be a badass rebel when all he really wanted was to settle down with his soulmate.

Satisfied with his decision not to tidy up for Tom's benefit, Booker stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed. Wary of encroaching on his lover's space, he lay close to the edge of the mattress, the uncharacteristic pounding in his chest echoing its formidable beat in his ears. The texture of the cool, crisp sheets against his bare skin heightened his senses, his hyper-awareness sending delightful tingles down the length of his shaft. Immediately, the urge to touch himself overwhelmed him, but he fought against his primal instincts. There was no rush, the night was young, and he was determined to make the most of his time with his lover.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sensed movement and turning his head, he smiled when he saw Tom standing in the doorway, arms wrapped protectively around his torso, a bashful grin curling his lips. It was a stirring sight and the corners of Booker's eyes crinkled, a look of love shining from the dark orbs. "Find everything okay?" he asked, his voice radiating a pleasant, soothing calm.

Tom gave another rapid head-nod, his eyes darting around the room, nervous, unseeing, too afraid to meet his lover's gaze. He felt foolish, and he wished he could magically undress and slip between the sheets of the freshly-made bed without having to do so under Booker's watchful eye. Even though he was still fully clothed, in a figurative sense he was already naked, stripped bare of his protective armor, leaving him defenseless. A shiver ran down his spine, and not knowing what to say, he focused his restless gaze on a pile of clothes shoved beneath the wooden bureau.

Booker watched on as a range of emotions passed over Tom's face. Fear, shame, excitement, anticipation, the officer's jumbled mind was an open book for his lover to see. For someone comfortable with their own sexuality, it was a humbling image, and the dark-haired officer's expression softened. "Relax, Hanson, I told you before, I don't bite. Why don't you get undressed and come lie down?"

When Tom realized he was nodding again, his head jerked to a halt, and relaxing his shoulders, he exhaled the breath he'd been holding. "Fuck," he muttered. "Why do you have this effect on me? I feel like a damn teenager."

Amused by the comment, Booker grinned. "Maybe 'cause I'm such a sexy sonofabitch."

The clever use of humor helped ease the tension in the room, and Tom grinned back. "In your dreams," he chuckled, and before he had time to think, he quickly undressed and climbed in beside his lover.

Booker switched off the light, and careful not to crowd Tom, he rolled over and placed a hand on his smooth chest. The erratic beat of the young officer's heart pulsated against his palm, and his brow pulled into a sympathetic frown. "Jesus, you really _are_ nervous."

Safe within the comforting folds of darkness, Tom found his confidence. "Maybe you can do something to help me relax."

Immediately, a warm mouth caressed Tom's ear. "Mmm," Booker murmured, his fingers tracing lazy circles over the young officer's bare chest. "Whatever you want, baby. I'm happy to oblige."

Sucking in his breath, Tom took pleasure from the provocative touch. Each gentle swirl drew the inquisitive fingertips closer toward their intended destination, the light, teasing caresses setting the young officer's skin on fire. When the smooth pads brushed over his stomach, Tom's muscles twitched, and his cock instantly hardened. He was under Booker's spell, the magic of the dark-haired officer's touch instantly vanquishing what was left of his reservations, freeing his mind and allowing him to lose his inhibitions.

"Touch me," he breathed, his hand grasping Booker's wrist and unashamedly pushing it down toward his groin. "I wanna feel you touching me."

Booker's fingers skimmed over Tom's cotton-clad erection, his delicate touch barely making contact. "You like that, don't you, baby?" he whispered, his lips sweeping over the young officer's full pout. "You like it when I touch you."

 _"_ _Yess,"_ Tom hissed, his whiskey-breath wafting over Booker's face in a cloud of warm air. "Fuck, yes."

Encouraged, Booker lightly caressed Tom's lips with the tip of his tongue, stroking, tasting, gently teasing until he gained access to his lover's mouth. Their tongues met, hesitant at first, the tips dancing an erotic tango to the beat of their own hearts. But with his confidence mounting, it didn't take long for Tom to unleash his passion. He deepened the kiss, plundering Booker's mouth with his tongue, his ardor escalating as his cock thickened beneath the talented fingers petting him to hardness.

In need of air, Booker broke the kiss, his head hanging low, his chest rising and falling with heavy, rapid breaths. "Fuck... you're... beautiful," he gasped, his mouth trailing down Tom's chest, nipping and sucking the taut flesh, devouring the sweat-soaked skin with hungry abandon. He latched onto a nipple, his teeth grazing over the nub, coaxing it to firmness before his warm lips continued their journey of discovery. Rough, eager hands tangled in his hair, the silent plea fueling Booker's own desires, and a soft groan spilled from between his lips. His erection strained against his boxers, the plum-shaped head peeking out through the fly, seeking attention. But although desperate, he ignored his own needs, preferring to give Tom the pleasure he so obviously craved.

 _"_ _Mmm,"_ Tom moaned, his eyes fluttering closed. With his cock now fully erect, he was reaching the point of no return, and he longed to feel his lover's fingers caressing his bare skin. Desperate for contact, he disentangled his fingers from Booker's dark tresses, and in a clumsy, awkward motion, he attempted to push down his boxers.

When Booker's fingers grazed over the naked flesh of Tom's shaft, he smiled against the warm skin beneath his lips. His boy was horny, but he wasn't satisfied with just giving a quick handjob. He wanted to taste his lover, to savor his juices against his tongue, and judging by Tom's fervent reaction, the young officer was ready to step it up a notch.

Sitting up, he threw Tom a cheeky grin before straddling his lower legs. "Are you trying to tell me something, Officer Hanson?" he crooned, the index finger of his right hand lightly stroking Tom's partially exposed penis. "Do you wanna play?"

Caught in the trance of Booker's hypnotic gaze, Tom's pupil's dilated, blackening his eyes. He was so fucking hard he could barely think straight, and if Booker didn't jerk him off, he would take matters into his own hands. "Yes," he bleated, his body squirming as his fingers and toes curled in frustration. "I do… I-I _do!"_

A satisfied smile twitched the corners of Booker's lips. Tom was putty in his hands, but that didn't mean he would take advantage of his aroused state. Trust was paramount, and although somewhat hokey, he wanted to get his lover's permission before he continued his oral exploration. And so, with a perfectly practiced look, he tilted his head to one side and batted his ridiculously long eyelashes, his expression flirtatiously coy. "Do you want me to use my mouth?"

All the air rushed from Tom's lungs. He stared at Booker with wide, desirous eyes, the eight simple words sending his heart into a frenzy of heavy beats. Never before had someone willingly offered to give him a blowjob, and the thought of Booker's sweet, moist lips sucking him off almost had him blowing his load there and then. Time stood still, the rapid thud of his heart counting down the seconds until he finally found his voice, and blinking rapidly, he sputtered a single word. "Y-Yes."

Without giving Tom time to change his mind, Booker removed his shorts and taking hold of his left ankle, he gently bent his knee so he could position himself between his open legs. With one fluid motion, the dark-haired officer ducked his head and slowly swept his tongue along the length of his lover's inner thigh. The warm flesh quivered beneath his tongue, and pausing, he sucked on the tight skin while using the tip of his index finger to gently rub over the erogenous zone of Tom's perineum. He could feel his lover's legs trembling beneath him, the uncontrolled spasms sending soft vibrations over his lips, and he smiled against the smoothness of the skin, content in the knowledge he was bestowing pleasure. But it wasn't enough, he wanted to experience every inch of Tom's body, and moving his head slightly to the right, he lightly mouthed over the soft folds of his sac.

The stimulation was unlike anything Tom had ever experienced, and his body twisted beneath the heat of Booker's mouth. "Oh God," he moaned, and reaching down, he stroked his fingers along the length of his aching shaft. "Again. Do it again."

Sensing movement from above, Booker lifted his head, and with a taunting grin, he sat up. "Nuh-uh," he admonished softly, his hand gently removing Tom's fingers from his burgeoning erection. "No touching."

Tom groaned, the loss of stimulation almost too much to bear. But when tendrils of warm breath whispered over his sensitive cockhead, his body began to writhe, rumpling the bedsheet beneath him. "I'm so hard, Dennis, oh God, I'm so hard," he whimpered, his voice desperate and needy. "I need more. Kiss it, Dennis… oh God, please kiss it."

Booker's eyes flared with a heated passion, the urgency in Tom's voice intensifying his own body's awakening. But he ignored his throbbing erection, and sweeping his tongue across his lips in readiness, he ducked his head and pressed his mouth against Tom's weeping slit.

A jolt of fire shot through Tom's body and reaching out, he tangled his fingers in Dennis' dark, tousled hair. "Again," he gasped, his voice trembling violently. "Kiss it again!"

Without hesitation, Booker readily obliged. His lips lovingly sucked on Tom's smooth cockhead, relishing the burst of pre-cum awakening his taste buds. When he swirled his tongue around the coronal ridge, rough hands ripped through his hair, urging him on. He didn't need any more persuading, and taking a breath, he ran his mouth up and down the full length of Tom's shaft, devouring his rock-hard erection with his moist, greedy lips.

Immediately, Tom's groin began an uncontrolled piston of thrusts, the upward movement forcing his cock deeper into Booker's willing mouth. Soft grunts resonated around the room, Tom's desirous pleasure vocalized without guilt or shame. It was a blowjob unlike any the young officer had ever experienced, Booker's self-evident talent surpassed only by the passion of his enthusiasm. "Oh Jesus!" he cried, and seconds later, his muscles tensed, and he ejaculated forcefully into his lover's mouth.

Endless waves of euphoria surged through the young officer's body, burning him from the inside. He continued to thrust his hips upward, zealously meeting the greedy mouth sucking him dry. Gradually, his movements stilled, and releasing his fingers from Booker's hair, he gazed up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling in fast, heavy pants. He was spent, both physically and emotionally, and it didn't take long for a post-climactic calm to soothe his frazzled body. The tension in his muscles eased, and relaxing back against his pillow, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the titillating sensation of Booker's skilled mouth lovingly lapping at his dwindling erection. For the first time since embarking on the emotionally charged journey of self-discovery, he felt truly at peace. There was no way something that felt so right could be wrong, and what remained of his doubts slowly ebbed from his mind in a gratifying flow of guiltless acceptance. Released from the constraints of conservative society, he finally felt liberated, free to live his life as he pleased. Gone was the judicious conformist who never broke the rules, and in his place stood a man who was willing to take a chance on unconventional love, no matter what the consequences. He was reborn.

When a wisp of cool air tickled his cock, he realized Booker's mouth was no longer wrapped around him. Opening his eyes, he looked at his lover, his heavily-lidded gaze a stark contrast to the dark-haired officer's blazing stare. Puzzled, he glanced down, his eyes widening at the sight of Booker's exposed cockhead, and with his curiosity piqued, he reached out a hand and lightly stroked the enticing flesh. A sharp hiss split the air, and growing bolder, he carefully released the erect shaft from the confines of its cotton shroud.

Booker's muscles tensed. He didn't move, didn't speak, didn't dare breathe for fear of scaring Tom. Blood pulsed through his cock, hardening the shaft, the delightful throbbing falling in tempo with the fluttering beat of his heart. He waited, lips parted, eyes wide with restless anticipation, and when tentative fingers encircled him, his breath escaped in a _whoosh._ Moments later, Tom experimented with a gentle tug, and no longer able to contain his elation, Booker eagerly voiced his encouragement. "That's it, baby," he coaxed softly, flecks of gold shimmering in the depths of his dark eyes. "Just like that."

Heartened, Tom took a deep breath and cautiously moved his hand over Booker's stiff shaft. The tip of his tongue peeked out from between his lips, his brow knitting in concentration as he found his rhythm. It was a new and exciting experience, and as he started to relax, he soon began to enjoy himself.

"Yes… yes… yes," Booker vocalized with a breathless pant. "Oh God… Tommy… that feels… so… fucking… good."

When droplets of pre-cum bubbled from the dark-haired officer's slit, Tom's eyes lit up, and wiping the ball of his thumb over the tip, he used the clear, viscous fluid as lubrication. His hand glided over Booker's erection, gently twisting and tugging, teasing him toward orgasm. A satisfying tingle ran down the length of his spine, quickening his pulse. He was Booker's equal, and in his heart, he knew their relationship would continue to go from strength to strength from that moment forward.

"I'm close, baby," Booker moaned, his hips rocking forward, the rapid movement thrusting his cock deeper into Tom's willing hand. "I'm so fucking close."

Tom's dark eyes flickered, his expression one of wonderment and delight. He was the one in control and jerking his hand faster, his tongue flicked over his lips. "I wanna see you come."

At the sound of his lover's voice, Booker's body arched, his stomach muscles flexed, and with a long, drawn-out moan, he climaxed, his semen splattering Tom's torso.

"Jesus," Tom murmured, his gaze fixating on the penis in his hand. The vision was so surreal it took on an almost dreamlike quality, and he continued to stare at the masculine form in front of him, his heart racing. Although a willing participant, he couldn't quell his rising embarrassment and releasing the softening shaft, he quickly averted his gaze.

Somewhat surprised by Tom's response, Booker dropped to his hands, his mouth seeking out his lover's provocative pout, his kiss lovingly reassuring. Compared to the passion of their coupling, it was a sweet and chaste display of affection, and in Booker's mind, it added another dimension to their fledgling relationship. They were coming together as a cohesive whole, their souls entwining, feeding off each other's moods, understanding each other's wants and needs. For the dark-haired officer, the passionate heat running through his veins was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, and lifting his head, he gazed into Tom's eyes and professed his adoration in a rush of uncensored emotion. "I _love_ you."

Tom's eyes widened, the unexpected declaration stunning him into silence. To actually hear the words spoken out loud was all too much, and he continued to stare at Booker, his expression blank. But with the pressure to say something squeezing the air from his lungs, he eventually managed to mumble an evasive reply. "Um, okay.

Humiliation burned in Booker's eyes and with his feelings hurt, he all but fell off the mattress, his movements ungainly and awkward. He stood naked at the foot of the bed, his expression furious, his eyes blazing with unbridled fury. "Okay?" he repeated through clenched teeth. "I tell you I love you and all you can say is _okay?"_

Realizing his mistake, Tom fought to make things right. "I-I didn't mean it like that," he stammered, his face reddening under Booker's furious gaze. "You took me by surprise and I—"

"You what?" Booker spat. "You decided your little experiment was over and you're ready to go back to being straight Tom? Is that it? Huh? IS IT? Well, fuck you, Hanson… FUCK YOU!"

"NO!" Tom yelled, and jumping from the bed, he and Booker faced off, their naked bodies bristling with indignation. "That's not what I meant! If you'd just shut up and listen, I'll—"

"I'm done listening," Booker interrupted abruptly. "Get your clothes and get out. It's over."

Tom's eyes grew wide with disbelief. "You're kicking me out?"

"Got it in one, Einstein," Booker sneered, his lips curling with contempt, and grabbing a discarded towel from the floor, he stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.


End file.
